A Bit of a Pervert
by RoseGhostings
Summary: He's too tense, and he really needs some sort of relief before he completely snaps. Just a dumb, gross little drabble.


**A/N (again): Alright, how do you do? Here was my first attempt at porn in decades. Apologies for the grossness you are about to experience, but if you need more of an explanation at the sudden perversions, check out the other BATIM fiction I published! Well, that being said please don't take my words all too seriously, and please, enjoy! It's the shortest little thing!**

He's always been a bit of a pervert really. It was in his design, his nature itself. A code carved into nothing but plain old ink ready and waiting. You can't shame a poor ol' demon for being himself, right? Or at least that's his guilty, sorry-ass excuse as he guides inexperienced hands in between his trembling legs.

It's just been a pain all day, and he can't have the way his thighs rub against themselves and the strain of having to keep himself stable and _solid_ worrying others, can he? And it just feels…so _nice_.

So he huffs and curses under his breath as his tail whips back and forth, sensitive and screaming at him for relief. It hurts, hell, it _burns_ and there's really not much he can do but hold back a frustrated sob that threatens to escape through a knot in the back of his throat that he _really_ can't get rid of despite his overbearing pride.

The ink that drips out from between his legs is like hot tar, and the lack of relief along with that burn is seriously starting to wear down on him.

He doesn't know _why_ this decided to happen on _today_ of all days. There's really no rhyme or reason to it and the severe sensitivity in between his legs has had him snapping at his worried friend all day. He wants to cry as he guides his fingers into the goopy pit that burns and aches with nerves set aflame and nerves that remain so. It does feel, really, _really_ nice; but he just can't quite find the relief that he craves for and it's only getting worse as ink pools between him and only continues to drip steadily onwards.

His body is soft and a bit uncanny with the appearance of full-on _melting_ as he tries to cease the burning tension that remains relentless and approaching _unbearable_. He tucks his tail in between his legs and whines, hoping that no one is around to hear his pathetic wailing as he covers his face with his hands and mumbles words a toon should never be able to say out loud. But hell, the situation at hand wasn't too child-friendly itself, was it? He almost laughs at the irony of it.

But then his tail flicks at, hell, _something_ and needle-like claws so small they're hardly noticeable much to his own dismay, press into the sheets that lay beneath him as he stiffens and almost chokes on air. _Fuck_ , he urges himself, _do that again_. And something, somewhere complies and his tail flickers again on that one spot that has him almost sobbing. God, it feels amazing and he's still not sure how he did that.

Hips lifting off of the bed, tail pointed and yet much less sharp and agonizing then it looks, circles the area in between his legs that has him squirming and wiggling his hips in the air as he tries to will his tail to _do whatever would feel good._

Ink drips onto the sheets already far gone and long-stained as his breaths are reduced to gasps and huffs. His tail flicks in a repetitive pattern as his hands cover his face and muffle his ever-growing moans and cries that echo off of the workshops walls.

It's soft and flexible when it presses into him, into a body so heated and goopy that to a human's touch it may resemble hot tar, but his back still arches and his breaths are still ragged and littered with curses and moans as the tip presses into the ink and then back out again, going just a bit deeper each time.

And then he's full-on sobbing thick tears that are hidden by his hands. He can't be any more glad that Boris isn't around to hear what a mess he is, but he doesn't dwell for too long because it just feels so damn _amazing_ and he can feel the warmth building in his belly that tingles in all the right ways. With one final, tired push of his tail deep into himself, his thighs clamp shut and he cries out without remorse and arches his back without control.

He falls back to the bed, puffing and utterly exhausted as he pulls out his tail with a sensitive little shudder and whimper. The ink pooling onto the bed cools and he can only hope that the sheets aren't _completely_ trashed as he waits for the aftermath to fade and the sensitivity to leave his tired body.

He almost drifts off into a lazy sleep until he hears a knock a familiar wobbly voice call his name.

"Bendy? You alright in there?"


End file.
